The Overlooked
by ValandMarcelle
Summary: Some call him a traitor. Some claim he was doing what he to do to survive. But the life of Fletcher Cadwell can only be fully understood through his eyes. Series focused on the male tribute from District 3 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Written by Marcelle.
1. Chapter 1

**This will be a series exploring the life of the boy from District 3 in the 74th Hunger Games, from the reaping, to the interveiws, to the Games themselves-and all the moments in between. I named him Fletcher because...well...I just liked that name! :3 It seems to fit him somehow. Of course I'm picturing him as Ian Nelson, who I thought did a great job in the movie despite of his short time in it. The fic will be mainly movie-verse with a few book elements mixed in. And of course there will be some aspects from my own imagination. This is easy because Katniss actually says in the book that she knows literally nothing about him, so that leaves a lot up for me to decide! I hope you enjoy it! **

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><p>There are some who say Fletcher Cadwell was a traitor. There are some who claim that he turned his back on his district and everything they hold dear, that he had no regard of honor and dignity. Fletcher Cadwell, they say, may have deserved the death he got.<p>

But still there are others who defend the boy. They are more merciful, more accepting, more willing to forgive. He was only doing what he had to do, they argue. He was young and alone. What, they ask of the others, would you have done? They believe Fletcher Cadwell's death came too soon.

The truth of the matter is that no one can ever or will ever grasp the full extent of a tribute's life. No one left behind to solitary lives in the districts can even begin to understand what it is like in the arena, where anyone and everyone could be your downfall.

Yes, they will try. They will try to convince themselves one way or the other on the subject of District 3's Fletcher Cadwell, if only to give their minds something to distract it from their own misery. For 74 years they have done this, and it does not seem as though there is any end in sight. It is all they know.

And yet the death of the boy was so sudden this year that it took many of them a few moments to comprehend what had happened. They lost the girl so soon into the Games that he was all they had left to root for, even if his actions were not condoned by them all. He was hope to them, a small ounce of pride to a district that usually was sorely overlooked in the arena. So young, his life extinguished with nothing but a snap.

The cannon sounded.

And no matter how they felt about him, District 3 mourned Fletcher Cadwell.

And they remembered.

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><p><strong>Next update coming soon! Please read and review! <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. I should have updated this a _long _time ago, and for that I apologize. To be completely honest, I forgot I even wrote this for a while, and once I found it again, the terrible, heartless muttation known as Writer's Block came to visit. But, the past is the past, and here is an update! Finally! Next time, I'll try not to be as late...heh, heh...**

**Enjoy!**

**-Marcelle**

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><p>If there was one phrase Fletcher Cadwell hated more than anything else, it had to be that stupid slogan the Capital plastered across the Games. May the odds be ever in your favor.<p>

It was an obvious lie, and everyone in the districts knew it. Of course, the Career districts more than likely did not have as much of a grasp on the concept of lies as the rest of them did, but that was perhaps attributed to the fact that the odds were usually in their favor.

But the rest of them knew as an undeniable fact that the odds were turned on them from the moment the Hunger Games sprung into existence.

It was a gimmick, a ploy, a tactic used to give the Capital the upper hand. If they could convince the districts that there was even the slimmest chance that the luck of the draw was on their side, it would sufficiently keep them in line.

A simple plan, Fletcher knew, when one really considered it. But then, none of them in District 3 usually had the time or interest for such things.

Technology consumed their lives, their every waking moment seemed to be filled with wires and gears and the ongoing tedious process of trial and error. Fletcher knew he was not exempt from this, a fact that was reinforced as he shook himself from his melodramatic thoughts and focused back on the metal framework of an animatronic mockingjay that laid on the table in front of him.

It was a side project of his that he had been working on for the last few days, and he had to admit that it was coming along quite nicely so far. It was small, yet compact and soon to be beautiful, perfect to suit the recipient of the gift.

She was currently in their room, undoubtedly studying for an automation test they had in school next week. They both knew that she didn't even need to do so much as open a book to ace the exam, that her exemplary brain would simply work out the problems without any kind of practice. But still she reviewed the material anyway, if only to assure herself that she would do well.

But Fletcher knew his twin sister, and he knew with the utmost confidence that she would do the exceptional work she always did. Fletcher believed that Faelin could do anything she wanted to, and there would be nothing stopping her.

Nothing except the Capital and their twisted Games.

Grimacing, he shook his head again, forcing the distracting thoughts out of his mind and looking back down at the mockingjay. By the time he was done, the little metal bird would be able to rise into the air at the snap of a finger, riding the breeze and even replicating melodies as their living counterparts did.

Mockingjays were Faelin's favorite animal, and Fletcher wanted to be sure he took every possible measure to ensure that his gift could bring to life all the little features about the birds his sister loved so much.

After all, he could never be sure how much longer either of them would be with each other, especially with the annual reaping always looming ominously and obviously around the corner.

The reaping.

It seemed as though their entire lives revolved around that single word, the two syllables striking so much fear into the heart of every citizen across Panem. Or at least, in the districts where such a word meant death rather than glory.

Fletcher knew he couldn't even begin to fully realize how lucky he was to live in District 3, and wished he didn't take it for granted as much as he did. The reaping, to them, served as a constant reminder not only of the power asserted by the Capital over the districts, but also of the inhumanity they were capable of. Sometimes Fletcher wondered whose idea the Games was in the first place-what demented mind had been able to conjure up the idea of an adolescent death match?

The thought made him almost shake with rage, and he found it difficult to keep his attention on the task at hand.

But the little mockingjay toy was calling out to him, and he could hear the sweet chirping sounds it would make when it was finished. He could hear the laugh of his twin sister when he presented the bird to her, a high and melodious sound that both cheered him up and reminded him to count his blessings at the same time.

There weren't many things in their life that allowed Faelin to produce such a laugh, and thus Fletcher had determined that he would have to be the one to draw it from her. After all, it was only she that could do the same for him. Faelin was his sister, his confident and his constant in a world of variables. He would do anything to make her happy, for she truly deserved it.

And so he set to work on the toy mockingjay once more, twisting wires and setting gears in place, making sure everything worked as it should. He could spend hours like this-his hands and his mind continually working to create something new.

That was what they were encouraged to do in their district after all, even if their efforts really only benefited those in the Capital. Technology was what he knew, it was what he thrived on. It was his life.

"Fletcher!" a shrill voice rang from the floor above him. His mother, calling for him as always. "Come up from your cave already!"

Fletcher sighed, putting aside the toy's blueprints and heading up the stairs that led into the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice how the once sleek surface of the tables and counters were beginning to scratch and wear away, much like the interior in the rest of the house.

It was almost metaphorical in a way, as though the condition of their furniture symbolized the sad state of affairs their district found themselves in at the moment.

The once proud and promising district had once been a Capital favorite, thanks to their technological prowess and willingness to share. But this arrangement had crumbled during the Dark Days, when District 3 had been among the first to rebel.

Fletcher had never been sure of the reason for this, but regardless of what it was, it was clear now that District 3 was a shell of it's former glory. They lived in much greater poverty than they once had-still not as bad as other districts, such as 12, but certainly worse than what Fletcher had assumed the citizens had once been accustomed to.

"What have you been doing down there all that time?" his mother asked, drawing Fletcher out of his thoughts of the past and bringing him back to the present.

"I'm working on something for Faelin's birthday," he replied hurriedly, sitting down at the table and carefully avoiding his mother's eyes.

He instead focused on the eggs in front of him, but could see her lurking in his peripheral vision nonetheless. It seemed her constant distrust of her children was growing, much as it had been in the last couple of years.

Fletcher honestly could not pinpoint a single moment where either he or Faelin had done even the slightest thing to tarnish their reputation in her eyes, but still she insisted that they were not to be relied upon.

"How nice," his mother muttered, almost sounding annoyed by the thought of a boy actually caring enough about his sister to work as hard as he was on her present. But then, she had never seemed to understand the bond her children had formed between themselves, nor had she ever made a point of finding out.

Her level of parental involvement never quite went above a distant suspicion, a mixed state of disinterest and wariness. She kept a vigilant eye on them, but only to ease her own selfish concern. Fletcher had always wondered what she possibly had to be worried about.

"Where is Faelin, anyway?" he asked as he made his way to sink, rinsing and drying his dish before setting in back in it's place in the cabinet. His mother rolled her eyes at the mention of her daughter, a small anger ignited in Fletcher at the movement.

How could a parent ever act like this, as though her children were merely a threat she needed to keep contained?

"In her room. She refused to come down and eat with the rest of us. Who knows what that girl could possibly be doing," she replied with an irritated huff, and Fletcher forced himself to bite back his own retort. Any confrontation would only make things worse for him; that much he had learned by now.

"Thanks," he mumbled instead, heading through archway that led to the kitchen and up the stairs that led to Faelin's room. He stopped short outside of the door, which was uncharacteristically closed. Confusion worked his way into his brain at the sight, enough to almost awaken nervousness within him.

His twin never shut her door, preferring to leave it open to give her room a more spacious feel to it. She felt cramped in small quarters; it was one of her largest fears. Why would she choose to shut it today?

It was then that it finally occurred to him just what day it was. The day each and every one of them dreaded.

Fletcher fought back a pang of worry as he knocked on the door, trying his best not to jump to conclusions so quickly. Perhaps Faelin was still studying, and wanted absolute peace that an open door could not provide. Or maybe their mother's tendency to invade their privacy had finally gotten to her.

Either way, Fletcher knew he was about to get an answer as the door swung open, only to reveal his twin sister's tear-stained face.

"Faelin!" he cried in surprise as she opened the door wider, pulling on his arm to drag him into the room before closing it again. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She responded only by catching him in an embrace, and Fletcher pulled her close as he felt tiny drops of tears falling onto his shirt. He felt a slight tremble coming from her small form, and let his anger take over him for the briefest of moments.

What had spurred this seemingly overwhelming sadness in Faelin, who was usually the epitome of joy? The girl was still attempting to pull herself together by the sound of her hitched breathing, and Fletcher swore that whatever had caused her this pain was going to pay if he had anything to do with it.

"Faelin, come on. Talk to me," he tried to coax words out of her, his voice soft as her grip on him tightened. "What is it?"

"F-Fletcher," his sister only sobbed in return, a new bout of tears interrupting her for a moment before she continued. "I...I put my name in more times."


End file.
